Hawke and Clovis
by mecoolerest001
Summary: The adventures of a high level fighter and barbarian.
**Chapter 1**

 **Hawke**

"This is my sword. Her bite is harsh but her kiss is sweet. She has been with me for many a year and has tasted her fair share of blood. You are being given this one last chance to step down or you will become well acquainted."

Hawke stood defiantly holding his oversized great sword, arm outstretched, parallel to the ground. Hawke always smiled after he gave his speech. He didn't always get through it. At times all he could get out was 'This is my sword.' before the beast tried to bite, or a kobold attempts to skewer him. But before every fight he would, at the very least, say the first line. It was always a special treat when he could get all the way through.

Hawke at that point a man of thirty two stared through a lock of his disheveled long black hair. At five foot nine inches he wasn't a towering figure but made up for his lack of height in bulk. A deep scar running across his face from check to ear (it was a recent battle reminder) granted him a hardened visage. His cold grey eyes stared forward intently.

"Why do you always waste your time with this?" Clovis sat on his horse, the juice from the apple he was eating running down his chin. "You are a silly man with a silly culture, just kill these fools and appease your God."

The Lizardmen slavers recoiled slightly at the barbarians words. Six Lizardmen stood club and shields in hand trying desperately to comprehend if these two men were serious, insane or both. The most ornate Lizard stepped forward, his bone necklace clacked with each step. His scaly head swiveled back and forth between the two men, the Slaver attempted to speak in Dolrich his native tongue.

"In God's tongue" Hawke spat, a remnant from his upbringing. His people back in Talon's Perch followed the teachings of the great god Comrin. It was forbidden within the religion to speak of Comrin by name and the devotees were known for their strict adherence to what was known as God's Law.

Clovis gave a forced laugh behind him. "Silly man everyone knows there are seven gods." Clovis on the other hand came from a group of desert raiders that worshiped seven nameless gods; the God of the Sun, the Moon, of Greetings, of Departures, of Horses, of War and of Travel.

The Lizard processed, paused and regrouped "My apologies" The slaver bowed. "We are mere merchants simply trying to pass off our wares," the Lizard waved a clawed hand towards a group of wagons parked in the middle of the forest road. Each wagon held a cage with a group of slaves clumped within, "All we ask is unhindered passage we have no quarrel with you good sirs."

The Lizardmen were a race of bipedal reptiles. Thick green scales covered most of their bodies acting as a natural armor. Their heads, long protruding jaws like that of a crocodile. Long tails dragged on the ground as they walked but could have been used as deadly weapons. They adorned their tough hides with piercing of bones and colorful feathers. Most lived by rivers and it was rare to find them that far inland.

"Well God's law would dictate that you be punished for your evil act, so unless you repent. . . I will kill you." Hawke said it as casually as if he were ordering a drink.

The Lizard's eyes became deeper slits. A forked tongue slipped out from behind bore teeth. The leader stepped backwards waving his other five men forward. The grunts started charging full tilt towards the Fighter.

"I was hoping you would do that." Hawke lunged forward rolling past the five approaching brutes coming to his knee and lashing with his oversize blade eviscerating the head slaver. He twirled around having just enough time to catch two of the clubs coming in to his left and took a hit to his right. His old scale armor had caught the brunt of the hit but it was sure to leave a bruise.

Hawke possessed the Cloak of Stars, a black magical cloak that twinkled with faint silver lights. Using the cloak would allow the user to avoid harm. The cloak only worked if the user was completely focused on the use of the magical portents and extended use wore the user out.

"You could help!" Hawke called out as he used the cloak to jump back repositioning himself to handle the five creatures.

Clovis got an annoyed look on his face, "But I don't have my killing mask on." Clovis often refused to fight unless glory, riches or vengeance were involved. "Plus I have my dress boots on, you're the one who wanted to kill the slavers."

As Clovis spoke Hawke grabbed one of the Lizards by it's horned head and forced its face into ground while tearing out the throat of another slaver with a well placed swing. Hawke stomped the back of the downed Lizards head. "Fine but you handle the next group."

Hawke liked to bicker with Clovis and in all honesty he loved the thrill of battle. The adrenaline pumping through him as he cut through foe after foe. His blade was as much a part of him as his arm. The eight foot long sword was forged many, many moons ago long before Hawke had even been a thought. The old blade, even after all those years, had a sinister look with razor sharp serrated edges and an almost inhuman size. Hawke had never once needed to sharpen his blade. Despite its size Hawke was able to heft the large blade occasionally working the sword one handed.

The three remaining Lizardmen started to circle Hawke, it was hard to tell with the cold blooded at times, but it almost appeared that they had fear in their slitted dull yellow eyes. Two of the fiends charged at Hawke, from the front and the right, as the reptile on the left dropped his club and pulled out a javelin. Hawke cut hard to his left checking the slaver pulling out his javelin and with a mighty chop, cleaves off the front of one of the chargers .crocodilian faces.

The checked Lizard let out what would best be described as a panicked grasp scurrying to his feet and tried to run. Little did the slaver know that Clovis had put his mask on. The Creature was trampled as Friael, Clovis's horse, trampled through and caused audible snaps and cracks as the creature's bones broke beneath the great horses weight.

Hawke lashed out with a great flourish cutting the last beast from balls to brain causing the two halves of the creature to flop to the ground, connected only by tail at that point, staining the dirt with yet more blood.

Hawke looked around and walked over to one of his cleaner kills and used the dead creatures loincloth to clean his blood soaked blade. Hawke sheathed his sword and casually strolled over the dead bodies to the caravan. He went from wagon to wagon using his great strength to break the bamboo cages open and freeing the poor souls inside. The people of various race, age and gender huddled around the two mercenaries.

"We have freed you good people!" Hawke climbed up the closest wagon to stand on its back and address the crowd. "To further aid you we promise to provide you safe passage to the next village. All we ask in return is that you sing our praises to all those you see." The tired crowd let out a weak cheer and started to gather supplies for the last leg of the trip.

Clovis pulled off his mask and looked at Hawke disapprovingly, "There is no honor in telling people to sing your praises they should just do it themselves." Hawke gave Clovis the same wry smile he gave him the last fifty times he had given Hawke the same lecture.

Clovis was a Half-Giant. His hairless tattooed body towered above most other men. When he raged it was a sight to behold, his bloodlust was so fierce that even the most seasoned fighter would recoil in terror. The arid desert his people called home was a far cry from the temperate wood in which he stood. Hawke owed Clovis a life debt and as such the two had been inseparable since. Despite the fact that they spent most of their time bickering they were close friends, who had on multiple occasions gone far out of their way to aid one another. Hawke patted Clovis on the shoulder, pulled the hood of his Cloak of the Stars up over his head and went to help the others.

The group ambled down the twisted forest road. Hawke was on point in the front with Clovis taking up the rear. For the most part the trip was uneventful and the small village of Bilsow was less than half a days walk away. Two leagues before the group reached the village a large Direboar ambled into the road. It stopped sniffing, turned to the group, and with a deep grunt started to scrape its hoof.

Hawke reaches to his back drawing his sword holding it parallel to the ground in front of him, "This is my sword."

 **Chapter 2**

 **Clovis**

Hawke claimed that he had killed the boar but really he had just taken its life. Clovis knew that he had been the one to kill the Direboar and was busy telling Hawke so.

"Silly man. I'm the one who cut all the boars legs off," Clovis was on foot leading his horse and following Hawke. Their bickering caused the freed slaves to give them more space than usual, "it does not matter that you slit its throat."

Hawke gave the same wry smile Clovis had seen many times before, "yes but my blade is the one that took its life , I get the glory."

Clovis was flustered. His gods demanded that glory goes where glory belongs. The God of War would be upset if he simply let Hawke take credit for the kill so he had to get Hawke to yield. He figured Hawke would since Hawke always did but honor demanded he convince Hawke to yield.

Clovis furrowed his brow, "This is just like the time with the Kracken. I broke its beak and ate its flesh, it was my kill."

Hawke Shrugged, "Fine you can have the boar but I get the next one."

Clovis reached back and pet Friael's mane. The dead direboar dragging behind his mighty horse leaving a trail of blood. Back in Clovis's homeland Irakil his people were desert raiders. The most prized possession given to a new raider was their horse. Friael was Clovis's first and only horse and had been with Clovis for the past twenty six years. Friael had been at his side riding into the heat of battle as fearless and furious as its rider.

Clovis had a big smile spread across his pale broad face. Half Giants were hairless and their eyes lacked pupils. Despite their desert living conditions their skin was a very pale just off white grey color. The rumors say that many thousands of years ago the giants of Rydborg would take human women in tribute as their wives. This is where the Half Giant bloodline was to have begun. No one was actually sure if there was any real giant blood in their bloodlines or if it was simply a grand story but few doubted the resemblance.

As Clovis looked up he could see the dense tree line break and the village of Bilsow standing peacefully off in the distance. A group of the children who had been with the slaves ran forward excitedly towards the town. Clovis watched them run and play thinking back to his wife and his kids all the way back in Irakil. He had to leave them. He had no choice. When you are chosen by a high priest of the God of Travel to make pilgrimage you go. When you are waked to the cities border and told that if you ever come back your family will die, you never go back.

Clovis was a lieutenant in the Irakil military. He served under the great Half Giant warlord Kromm. One night Clovis lead a squad of fifteen Barbarians to raid a merchant's villa. One of the new recruits in his squad was Dolan the nephew to warlord Kromm. During the raid Clovis went into a battle frenzy. he killed eight of the guards singlehandedly. He was so entrenched in his bloodlust that he lost focus on his men and became too focused on the slaughter. This resulted in a group of reinforcements to surround the villa outnumbering the Barbarians six to one.

When Clovis finally calmed down he and the eleven men who had survived the fight, including Dolan, devised a plan to push through the battle lines and make for their horses. Only three men made it through the waves of soldiers. Covis, his second in command Albar and Dolan. As the three Half Giants mounted their horses and started to run Dolan took an arrow in the back. Toppling from his steed Dolan lay on the ground screaming for help as the other two raiders continued. Clovis considered turning back and Albar almost did. Clovis had to grab Albars reigns and bring him forward. There was no saving Dolan the soldiers swarmed him killing the young Half Giant who died with a bloodcurdling scream.

Upon returning Clovis delivered the bad news to warlord Kromm. Kromm seemed to take the loss in stride and declared that his nephew died an honorable death. The warlord secretly however plotted to have Clovis forever exiled. Part of the religion of the Eternal Lords of Irakil was that each year the high priest for the God of Travel would select one of the citizens to go on a pilgrimage to the great mountain of Toom. The traveler would have to climb to the mountains summit retrieve one of the golden pears that grew exclusively on the top of the mountain and return it. If the pilgrim succeeded there would be good luck for the entire tribe. If the pilgrim did not return then the tribe was doomed for one year of bad luck. Apparently warlord Kromm was fine with the bad luck. He pulled some strings to ensure that Clovis get picked as the pilgrim. As Kromm rode with Clovis to the edge of their territory he told Clovis that he could never be forgiven for not going back for his nephew. He told Clovis that if he ever returned that Kromm would kill his whole family in front of him before taking his life.

So Clovis left. He hadn't been home in close to thirty years and last he heard Albar had been killed under suspicious circumstances but his wife and kids were still alive. At this point his eldest son would be full grown probably married himself.

Clovis tried not to think about home too much the thoughts were painful but he still worshiped his gods and recognized his people's traditions whenever it was convenient at least. For example the dead boar he had behind him. Honor dictated that he respect the dead. The boar would be cooked, its flesh eaten and his tusks added to his victory necklace. Despite Clovis's recognition of his religion and customs he had little regard for rule or procedure. His religion was very loose in most rules unless honor or glory is involved.

Hawke wandered off ahead with the group of people into the town. Clovis walked to a tree on the outskirts and started to pull the boar up to be skinned. Now was time to honor the boar.

A number of hours passed and the sun started to set. The boar was skinned and its meat was being piled near a fire to be cooked. Clovis was just settling down to cook when Hawke came striding back. Hawke always confounded him. One day many years back Clovis came across Hawke badly beaten barely holding off two Orcish raiders. This was before Hawke had his sword. The bloodied man was trying his hardest to fend off the Orcs with a broken spear. Clovis killed the two Orcs and the young Hawke swore a life debt to him. In all reality the only reason Clovis got involved was to just hit something but none the less what started as an annoyance turned into a deep friendship.

"Its getting dark we should go to the bar," Hawke was always in a rush Clovis, on the other hand, liked to take his time. Clovis chose to not respond and got about his business. Hawke sat for a moment watching, "The slaves are taken care of I sent a runner to get one of the local Paladins from Citadel's Pointe."

Clovis snorted at the notion. The Paladins of Comrin were known to be overly devout and tended to look down on other religions. There was one that Clovis had fought and Hawke had killed that wore Gold plate and carried an overly ornamental sword that buckled under Clovis's falchion. The whole fight started when the over sanctimonious man tried to arrest them for killing some jailers. Clovis couldn't wrap his head around the religion unfortunately Comrinian was the primary religion in these lands.

Worse than the Paladins was the city of Citadel's Point. A large metropolis set in a valley, Citadel's Pointe is the largest city in all of Trillal. It was also the country's capital. Clovis always felt drowned by the dense urbanization and thick crowds that roamed the city.

Clovis put the boar's meat on a spick and placed it over the fire, "fine we will go get a drink." Clovis looked up and smiled "but you pay."


End file.
